


Bond

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: The Quartermaster's Recollections [16]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 00!Q, Gen, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-SPECTRE, Protective James Bond, Q is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23825344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: Coda to "Duty" - Q and Bond have a long-awaited chat.
Relationships: James Bond & Q
Series: The Quartermaster's Recollections [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/71147
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	Bond

Not many could claim that cable media and the Quartermaster branch of MI6 had something in common. In fact, one could rightfully made the argument that they were opposite entities. One to keep secrets, one to blow secrets out into the open; transparency and all of that. However, that particular distinction depended on the perspective of the one thinking those thoughts. Both entities had grounds to either claim – though Q branch members would beg to differ that some times, theirs was more literal.

One thing they did have in common was rather mundane. Both ran 24-hour, 7-day-a-week operations. Sure, Q branch was run more like research and development, but that would have been a disservice to the men and women who were the lifeline and links to the respective agents out in the field, pre-ops, ops, and post-ops. It was very rare that Q branch would be completely silent.

But Q had ordered the minions that were running operations to do it elsewhere for at least the next few hours. Being head of the Quartermaster branch had its perks and with how he helped set up remote working, his minions would be fine away from the main area of the branch. The quite gave him a modicum of privacy, but also a chance to come to terms and decide what he had to do now.

What he should have done years ago.

The only thing that had tethered him to this life,  _ his _ life, was sentiment.

And it was a dangerous emotion.

He stared at the blinking cursor. One stroke, and all of it would be gone. One stroke, and he would disappear, never to be resurrected or seen again. One stroke and he was free of this. Free of sentiment, free of responsibilities, free of his past, free of-

He lifted his finger off of the keyboard as he sensed – and not even a half a second later – heard the distinct footsteps echoing down the halls. He leaned back in his chair and pinned 007, James Bond, with an arched eyebrow and blandest expression he could muster as the agent entered.

“Q,” Bond greeted drolly, his expression giving no hint of his surprise at being detected. Then again, Q figured nothing could quite surprise the agent at this point. The agent more than likely foresaw his early return to Q branch after a forced bed rest from his head wound.

“Bond,” Q replied in kind. He watched with as the agent lazily wound his way towards him, seemingly interested in the objects on the others' desks. “What questions can I answer for you?”

“Not even a hello or 'come to chat?' Where are your manners?” Bond chided with an air of feigned astonishment. He stopped two desks away, coincidentally, where R's desk used to be. It was cleared out by the time Q had returned. There was also a distinct patchwork of holes and someone's half-hearted attempt to cover it up. Q knew the bullet holes were shot by his minions. At least they had found something to express their displeasure of what R, Thomas, had done to them and to MI6.

“No tea,” Q lifted up his scrabble mug. “Would you kindly get me some?” Bond quietly snorted and Q set his mug down with a shrug. “It was worth a try.”

“You've training,” The agent got right to the point as he set himself to examine R's desk. It seemed like he was not going to come any closer – at least for the moment.

“The minions were testing the latest batch in weaponry. Yes, yes, it'll be available to you in your next outing whenever that is,” Q answered that particular unspoken question quickly. He saw the faint amusement light up the agent's face. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but Q knew that Bond was like the other double-o's. They  _ loved _ their gadgets, no matter how much they sarcastically complained about the simplicity of some of them. “Every person in the department is at least expected to go through training.” 

“Not what I asked,” Bond knelt down and traced a slow finger through a larger ragged hole. “Judith's work?”

“Impressive.” The compliment was true as Q did not realize Bond knew much about the others that worked with the double-o's. He tended to helm the double-o's missions more often than not, reasons he did not quite wished to reflect upon, but at the same token, 007's missions tended to get...explosive and messy. Sometimes, he was reminded that he was perhaps a janitor more than a handler.

“She tends to not like to be questioned,” Bond shrugged, still tracing the large hole. It was an almost perfect double shot.

“And do not fault your own observational skills, Bond,” Q caught a lingering look shot at him. He absently toyed with the mouse, watching the cursor move aimlessly on his screen. He could still hit that one button, but chose not to at the moment. “I was very careful in my presentation. No one knew, except for M.”

“And your brothers.”

“And my brothers,” Q nodded. “Though Sherlock didn't know the full extent until the incident with C.”

At that, Bond turned his head towards him, raising an elegant eyebrow. His piercing blue eyes were unreadable. Q shrugged. “C did die by gunshot. He could have been distracted with the stiletto in his neck though.”

“The pen is mightier than the sword,” Bond murmured quietly and Q had to duck his head a little to laugh. He looked back up to see the blue eyes chipped with mirth even though there was no expression on the agent's face.

“Touch é , 007, touch é ,” he threw him a jaunty salute.

“Mr. Holmes had a habit of showing that pen-knife off when he received it,” Bond said dryly.

“Sherlock tends to have that effect when he's given a toy. Perhaps similar to a couple of other agents I know,” Q raised an eyebrow at Bond's direction and the other man shrugged as if it was nothing.

“I happen to like making statements.”

Q made a small noise of agreement, pausing for a moment as he collected his thoughts. “I retired from the field long ago. Was brought back as the Quartermaster.”

“For Queen and country?” Bond asked, echoing their rooftop conversation.

Q sighed. “For Queen and country and then some. My reasons are my own, 007.” He knew the agent heard the warning in his tone, to not press upon those particular reasons. He wasn't feeling quite charitable in sharing even though the agent now knew far more than he probably had ever about his Quartermaster.

“You weren't joking when you said you can do more damage with a keyboard before your first cup of Earl Grey.” Bond seemed to have given up examining R's desk and instead, rounded another empty desk and sat on the edge of it, staring at him.

There was a brief stretch of silence between them.

“001,” Q said softly, meeting the sharp-eyed look and slight narrowing of the agent's eyes.

“There hasn't been-”

“-A 001 designation since Silva or Moriarty, yes, I know. Publicly, there hasn't been.” He sighed softly. “M, our predecessor and the current one, believe the position is cursed with two of our biggest threats holding those former positions.”

Bond was surprisingly silent for a moment, studying him with an intensity that Q thought could almost rival one of Sherlock's own scans. He wondered if somewhere along the line of the years working with the agent, with the breadcrumbs that had been laid before him, did 007 pick up on some of the skills that his brothers and he himself employed. It would be a wonderful tool for the agent to use, like all of the other skills trained into them.

“You're leaving,” Bond finally stated.

Q's lips quirked up in a small smile. Bond could not even see what was on his screen, having set it to sleep mode since the agent arrived. The keystroke could still activate it, he just need to hit it and everything would run according to how he programmed it.

“I suppose my willingness to talk was perhaps indicative of my actions?”

“Not really. Just some deductions,” Bond's expression was bland, but his voice sounded a little mirthful as if he was playing with his own words. “It's what a Holmes would do.”

Q blinked, caught off guard.

“What.”

“I did some research,” Bond dragged on the word 'research', “found odd coincidences that when things were not exactly the way the Holmes family wanted them to be, they were adamant about keeping it buried. Your family, at least your brothers, have a tendency to hide things, to deal with problems of their own.”

Bond looked at him. “You value privacy in a world of secrets. In our line of work, secrets have a nasty habit of become deadly.”

“You would know,” Q returned the look with one of his own and Bond's smile was mirthless.

“And it's also quite dead.”

“I distinctly remember M complaining about your license to kill, not for mass destruction and mayhem.”

“No, that's more your forte, isn't it?” The man's smile lost a bit of it's mirthless quality and Q snorted quietly in laughter. It died quickly enough as Q sighed and absently ran a hand through his hair.

“We are blunt instruments, you and I. Sharpened and created to protect Queen and country. We are not meant for attachments to anything in this world. To get attached is to be betrayed and find ourselves bereft of the skills we can use to protect this country and its citizens.”

He flicked a look at Bond and saw the icy blue eyes grow a little colder at his words. He knew 007's history and what happened on his second mission as a double-o and of Vesper Lynd. It was not public knowledge, but it was knowledge for him to operate and assist the agent in subsequent missions. What happened with Dr. Madeline Swann in the aftermath of Nine Eyes was still a mystery, but Q had been content to ignore any signs that the agent wanted to leave with the young woman or anything else that may have happened. It had been a rather trying mission in his opinion – especially since he got shot at and was also forced to fly. He  _ hated _ flying.

“No trust?” Bond asked quietly.

Q closed his eyes and shook his head slightly before opening them again. “I said attachments. Trust does not have to come with attachments.” He eyed the agent. “But you knew that already.”

“Clinical analysis,” was the only reply he got.

“Your attempts at being a Holmes is sorely lacking, 007,” Q shook his head again. “But I will give you credit for observational analysis.”

An elegant eyebrow rose once more at the wordless question.

“I know you have a point.”

“Fear,” Bond stated, his expression resuming its normal blandness. Yet his eyes were still as sharp as ever. Q appreciated the expressions that he was able to read from them. He wondered if Bond knew about the effect his gaze had when the rest of his body language was a mastery of control.

“That's a very broad word.” Q was a little baffled and opened his mouth to continue before Bond's gaze turned into a simple looking one.

“You're acting exactly like your brother,” the man stated.

Q's brows wrinkled and he stared at the agent. A hundred absurd thoughts flew through his mind, all demanding that the double-o explain himself-

A rueful smile worked its way up the agent's face. “So even you can be caught off guard.” Bond's icy blue eyes were amused. “I dug a little into Mycroft Holmes' workings. A minor official in the British government, sure. Especially with a double-o assigned as his personal assistant too. He thought himself clever enough to prevent his enemies and those he considered enemies to both himself and his younger brother Sherlock Holmes from ever touching him. By feinting or playing a long game with them in order to ensure the safety of not only himself, but also of Sherlock Holmes. That he could never be used against his brother.

“Sherlock Holmes, though also tended towards that, with his actions, but rather extended it to protect Dr. Watson, Dr. Watson's family and for all of his own misgivings, his older brother,” Bond finished. “Not much if you don't consider yourself one of them, and certainly not enough to link yourself to the Holmes brothers, but in light of your familial connections that it seems I and 002 know about, it wasn't too far of a stretch to think this was the logical conclusion.”

Q stared, long and hard at the agent, meeting his stare with a curiously open one of his own. Q quickly applied his own brand of analysis on Bond, reading him like the open book he was, and all he could get was just one word from the man's body language: trust.

His breath hitched slightly. The agent fully trusted him, after everything.

“...And should I not ensure the safety of others?” he murmured quietly, tearing his gaze away. He was suddenly afraid. Depressing the single keystroke was rather tempting now. To end the conversation once and for all.

“That would mean you're getting attached.”

Q's head shot up sharply. Damn Bond and his logic. He swore inwardly at the simplistic outlook before looking away again. “You're insufferable,” he growled out.

He heard the agent sigh before an odd crinkling sound was heard. Out of the corner of his eyes, Q saw an envelope being pushed towards him as the agent stood up, the conversation clearly over and whatever curiosities he had was sated. He looked up again at 007 with a raised eyebrow.

“You promised to split it,” was all Bond said before straightening his jacket and leaving the area.

Q swiped the envelope and opened it to find a cheque made out to Bond's name along with a string of numbers and zeroes. He could not help the smile that appeared on his face. So Bond did take Mycroft up on his offer. He shook his head as he set the cheque and envelope down onto his desk. It was clever of the agent to come down to talk with him to sate his own curiosity, but also by Mycroft's request. He knew he should be more annoyed that Mycroft was meddling in his affairs and using Q's favorite double-o to do it. But he supposed it was the head wound talking that he was not as annoyed. He sighed and reached over to power down the computer, eliminating the work he had spent hours on. The next time he powered it back up, it would be normal again. No need for a keystroke now.

Task done, he stood up, reaching over for the peacoat that he had received as a present from 007 long ago and slipped it on. Tying his scarf into a knot, he popped the collar and swiped the cheque from his desk. 007 trusted him, but there was perhaps one more word Q knew he would include in his read of him. He would have to amend his statement about Her Majesty's blunt instruments. There could not be trust without attachments.

There could not be an attachment between the Quartermaster and a double-o without sentiment.

~END~

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this was version 3 of this story. I've actually wanted to write this chat between the two since "Skyfall". ^_^


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